


Armful

by distantstarlight



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Babies, Best Friends, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Prompt Fic, tiny bit of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-26 22:40:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2669066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fic is based on the prompt "Sherlock has a baby in his arms"</p><p>there was more but this is what I used....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Armful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MyFirstistheFourth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyFirstistheFourth/gifts).



They were at a celebration. The case had taken years, the efforts of dozens of people, more than one division and agency, international cooperation in some instances and had been deemed a hopeless case, that is, until Sherlock Holmes had been called in. John ended up taking an extended leave of absence from work to help him with this case and after all the late-night chases, the miserable stake-outs in cramped uncomfortable places, wild deductive mental leaps overtaking Sherlock like he was possessed, capped with John’s almost unfailingly accidental insight that allowed the detective to pull it all together and they had ended up at a huge party filled with every manner of person and their significant other.

They were toasted and cheered together, partners till the end, the praise as much for John as it was for Sherlock, not that John ever accepted it. Any compliment he got he passed right along to Sherlock until the taller man was flushed with barely concealed delight at the amount of positive attention he was receiving, and the doctor kept heaping the praises higher, “He was amazing, absolutely amazing! I had no idea what was going on but he figured it all out!” They were standing shoulder to shoulder in an ever-changing crowd of husbands and wives of the participants to the grand chase that had ended dramatically in the streets with John heroically saving Sherlock yet again from imminent death by villain, both men concluding the case right in front of the adoring eyes of the public who saw fit to capture the moment on their mobile phones before sharing it with the world. Sherlock was a star and John was shining brightly right beside him.

One of the latest listeners of the now well-told tale was the wife of a diplomat, there with their many children to enjoy the fete. She was charmed with Sherlock and John, chatting pleasantly with her husband who was taken away to have a discrete word with other soberly dressed gentlemen in the corner. She excused herself when her mobile rang and very nearly had an unfortunate moment with her small babe who had been lying quietly in her arms until then, “Oh Mr. Holmes, would you be a dear?” The motherly woman plunked her small baby into the tall man’s arms and turned away to begin a rapidly spoken conversation in a foreign language at high speed and with no small amount of urgency in her words.

John stared at Sherlock who was staring at the baby. His face was blank as he stood perfectly still, his eyes rapidly going over every visible inch of the tiny creature, taking in everything from the sparseness of the hair on its rounded head, to the cartoon creatures on its tiny clothing. It was wildly out of place to have such sweet softness near a coat that had so very recently been part of a rather exciting chase through many dubious parts of London. It was wildly out of place to have anything so delicate, so fragile, and so helpless yet lying in the arms of a man who called himself a high-functioning sociopath.  

Therapists all over the city made their living helping people recover from being exposed to Sherlock’s acerbic observations, his lack of tact or consideration flaying one person after another open right to their emotional bones. He was legendary for his abrasive personality, his inability to be nice to nearly anyone with the two great exceptions of Mrs. Hudson and John. Everyone from the Yard was staring at Sherlock holding the baby. Lestrade’s mouth dropped open and the look of horror on Donovan’s face was mirrored on Anderson’s. All of them flapped their hands helplessly as if they wanted to go rescue the innocent yet were entirely unsure if they were able to.

Sherlock paid no attention, all his focus was on the child. John was the only one who was close enough to watch the detective’s face up close as he examined the tiny being his arms, its small eyes beginning to open as the child yawned, stretched, opened its eyes, and realized it wasn’t with anyone it recognized. One small mouth opened and a wail began to form, “Shh, I’m telling a story.” said Sherlock decisively and to everyone’s amazement the baby completely failed to cry. It looked surprised, nearly as surprised as Sherlock who kept speaking calmly, deepening his voice just a touch, and looking right into the baby’s eyes as he kept speaking. The child seemed unable to look away.

Sherlock adjusted how he was holding the baby, sidling backward until he met up with a chair that was near a table and without looking the detective sank down into it, the child’s head high on his arm as he cradled the little bundle close to his chest and kept speaking to it softly, “And then John was impressively violent resulting in the breakage of at least three major bones, only two breaks were possibly necessary in order to be efficacious but he was a soldier and can get hot under the collar, nonetheless given the fact that he was some fifteen centimeters shorter than our suspect it is very exciting that he was still able to tackle the man to the ground at all, as well as inflict serious harm to a very bad person. And that’s how John saved the day. Again.”

The baby puffed up, its little face distressed and getting red. John moved in, the baby was mere moments away from wailing, “You are suffering from an internal imbalance due to the excessive amount of retained gasses produced during the introduction of solids to your diet,” he pronounced solemnly, “You require assistance.” Sherlock tipped the baby up over his shoulder and gave it three firm raps on its little back. A thunderous belch erupted from the tiny creature that immediately became limp, its little head pressed to Sherlock’s riotous curls. Sherlock rubbed its back for a second before easing the child back into his arms to continue discussing the case with it. John stood back, a fond smile on his face as he watched Sherlock chat happily with a being that was only a few months old, his interest entirely engaged as he catalogued the baby’s responses to different sounds and intonations.

The mother bustled back, her smile full of genuine gratitude, “Oh thank you Mr. Holmes, of all the evenings for our nanny to fall ill!” she relieved him of the now sleeping baby, “She’s never been so quiet, you must be so good with children.”

“Children aren’t boring.” said Sherlock who had lost interest in everything now that the baby was gone. John nodded his head so Sherlock stood, bid everyone a good evening and led John away.

They were in the taxi on their way back to Baker Street before John spoke, “I’d never have guessed in a million years that you liked babies.”

“Children are marvelous John. Their minds are open, they think with a clarity they’ll never experience again, untainted by preconceptions and misinformation. There’s such hope in children but by the time they grow up most of them are forced into becoming Andersons.”

John felt sad when he listened to Sherlock’s view, “Not all kids grow up like that. There are lots of good people in the world, interesting people.”

“Well there’s _you_.” said Sherlock matter-of-factly, “You’re not boring either.” John felt himself grow warm inside but Sherlock just sat there looking out into the streets as if he hadn’t just given John one of the nicest compliments he’d ever received. When they stopped in front of their building Sherlock left John to pay, as always, but stunned him by saying in an offhand voice, “Perhaps one day you and I could adopt. Raising a child with you would be very satisfying.”

John’s jaw dropped. Sherlock was his best friend but that was it, wasn’t it? Suddenly John wondered about the possibilities. Maybe Sherlock wasn’t as married to his work as he used to be. With a huge grin John shoved a fistful of bills toward the driver. There were a lot of hurdles between now and a future that included a baby but John had indeed been a soldier and he didn’t balk at much. The street was quiet as the door shut on 221 B Baker Street, and not one hint of what an ex-army doctor was doing as his first step toward wooing the hand of a very willing consulting detective.


End file.
